Wicked Mourning

by Heather Boyd

  Wicked Mourning

  Heather Boyd

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Wicked Mourning

  Copyright © 2011 by Heather Boyd

  Cover Design by Heather Boyd

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without written permission.

  For more information visit: www.heather-boyd.com

  Widow, Clara Blackstone, is a faithful woman who has mourned her philandering husband for the last six months. Sheltered from pity and whispering tongues at a friend's country estate, Clara awaits the birth of her first child with mounting confusion. Despite the tiny life growing inside her, she dreams of passion in Reggie's arms. And the erotic fantasies grow more compelling every day.

  When Reginald Moore's wife died in the arms of her lover, Clara's husband, he whisked pregnant Clara away from false friends to his country estate to avoid the strain of the scandal. After six months of pretence, Reggie is done mourning his faithless wife and, despite his originally noble intentions, he longs to have Clara in his bed - unborn child and all.

  But are his skills of persuasion enough to convince Clara to set aside her grief for a faithless man and choose a new life with the one who stood by her, no matter the obstacle?

  Author's note: this story contains a red hot romance between two wicked mourners around one rather large baby bump.

  A regency short romp.

  Dedication

  To Fred, my lifelong adviser and partner in crime. May you always follow the straight and narrow path.

  Chapter One

  Reginald Moore gestured to the oak tree beyond his window. “This isn’t amusing, Clara.”

  Reggie made room so Clara Blackstone, the widow of his former business partner, could stand between him and the farce occurring outside.

  At the sight, she drew in a sharp breath. “No, of course not, Reggie, it’s downright dangerous.”

  Beneath his bedchamber window, a young lady—one he’d previously thought to be above such foolishness—hung from a high branch wailing pitifully. Her legs kicked in the air ineffectually, her hair—fallen from its moorings—blinded her to the full extent of danger. Beneath her, her father stood shouting up at the branches and Reggie feared she might faint from the parental scolding.

  Her miserable shrieks gathered strength and then a particularly high and desperate one made him shudder. “Why do you think she attempted the climb and came to be stranded?”

  “I imagine she heard the rumor that you sleep with the window open and was attempting to further her acquaintance with you. It is entirely your fault that the local lasses are forced to ridiculous measures to catch a glimpse of you. If you could be the least bit pleasant, and do the pretty once in a while, things would go much better for you. Now you’re officially out of mourning the town speaks of nothing but what a grand matrimonial prize you are. One of them means to have you, but the size of the tree was clearly a small concern in Miss Allen’s mind.”

  Reggie let his gaze stray to the widow standing beside him. Almost equal to his height, he had a fine view of Clara Blackstone’s features. She was exceptionally pretty: flawless pale skin, full rosy lips, but her soft doe brown eyes no longer sparkled with warmth as she spoke. Was that a hint of sadness in her tone?

  What had caused today’s disappointment? “More’s the pity. Did it not occur to the chit that the span of the tree fell somewhat short of my window?”

  Clara leaned closer to the glass and her black bombazine gown whispered across his leather-encased foot. Another distraction, added to the shock of her surprising invasion of his bedchamber. He’d never imagined she’d seek him out here for conversation, but he could certainly grow used to such intimate moments. “That truly is a matter the girl should have taken into account before the attempt, isn’t it?”

  Reggie kept his distance from the glass and from his friend’s widow. Neither the spectacle below nor the spectacle before him was safe for closer inspection. Not yet at any rate. One day soon, however, he hoped to make a marked change in Clara’s situation. But he had to be patient and wait for the conclusion of one last matter. Then neither hell nor high water would prevent him having his way, and securing Clara as a permanent fixture in his life.

  Clara’s shoulders sagged. “Ah, the gardener has brought round a ladder.”

  “Good grief,” Reggie groaned, “is Andrews to fetch her down? Well, we’ll have two burials to attend to now.”

  “No, not Andrews, the younger gardener—the tall strapping Welshman.”

  Hearing Clara describe another man with such glowing approval in her tone unnerved Reggie. He frowned at her somber attire, thankful that her involvement with the situation below the window hid his annoyance. Reggie had waited patiently for Clara to put her husband’s death behind her and notice how much he worried for her welfare. These months of wretched celibacy couldn’t be for naught.

  “Hmm, he’s climbing up after her.” Clara pressed her hand to the glass, fingers splayed close to the action. She gave no further commentary, but a sigh passed her lips.

  As always, his glance fastened on her ring finger. A single band of gold still encased it. “I think I have kept you in the country too long if the servants are beginning to appeal to you.”

  Clara chuckled, a rich throaty laugh that distracted him more the longer he knew her. Once, when deep in his cups, Acton Blackstone had boasted of Clara’s passionate and willingly experimental nature. Those vulgar words, spoken months before his death, had tormented Reggie for more days and nights than he cared to think about. He watched constantly for signs that she would recover her zest for life but so far, he saw little indication that she missed the pleasures of the flesh. If she was indeed the bold seducer her husband claimed, charming a gardener would require little more than a crook of her dainty finger.

  Her lips turned up in a gentle smile. “I think his actions romantic, but no doubt you wouldn’t care a whit for that would you?”

  He forced out a merry laugh. “You know me so well.”

  Actually, she knew very little of him because he’d purposely kept her at a distance: playing the controlling tyrant to her weeping widow. Dragging her to the country for her health in the face of the scandal created by others had been entirely for his welfare because in London he had no excuse to linger in her drawing room. Deceiving her about his true motives had been surprisingly easy.

  Yet, even still, she was in mourning for a man she was ridiculously lost without. Reggie had stood her friend, adviser and protector through it all: the deaths, the scandal, the inquest and finally mourning.

  He had worn the willow for six months in memory of a wife who was, at best, a shocking flirt. At worst, a shameless temptress who had betrayed her husband and best friend by engaging in an affair with Acton Blackstone, his business partner, and leading them both to their deaths. Mourning such despicable partners seemed a sham to Reggie. Only Clara’s grief was real.

  “That I do, but you needn’t fear any longer. Miss Hastings stands with both feet on the ground and a disapproving parent is waiting to take her home. I do wonder how she will ever be able to look at you again.”

  Reggie swayed closer to Clara and drew in a deep breath. “With luck, she won’t.” The subtle scent of rosemary clung to her skin and he wondered if she’d been lurking about the kitchen gardens again, inhaling cook’s herbs and driving the old woman to distraction.

  Clara turned and her distended belly brushed his hip. She blinked, as startled by the con
tact as he was and for very similar reasons. Reggie avoided touching her because she carried her husband’s babe. With a few months left till the happy arrival, Clara kept to the strictures of their society and tried to hide her state. Even from him. “Now, Reggie, there is no need to take that unforgiving tone. She is very young and has, with luck, learned her lesson. Do try to be nice to her.”

  She shook a little as she finished her lecture and again her belly brushed him. On impulse, he laid his hands on either side of her swollen stomach. Her skin was hard, not soft as he expected. Warmth seeped through the thin gown and enveloped his fingers with sensations he should, by rights, fight.

  Her breath caught. “Reggie?”

  He moved his fingers over her skin a little. “Shh, love.”

  Although whispered, his endearment sounded shockingly loud in the bedchamber. He slid his fingers slowly over the bump and when he stopped, something small and hard pushed against his palm.

  His eyes flew to Clara’s and he was fairly certain he gaped like a village idiot. “The child moves?”

  A tender smile tugged at her lips. “The child moves quite a bit, actually.”

  Clara covered the back of his hand with hers and she pressed him tighter against her flesh. The child kicked harder that time. Stunned and completely enthralled by the movements inside her, Reggie relaxed, letting one hand slide around Clara back while keeping the other against her belly. Her stomach rippled beneath her gown and he smiled at the child’s antics.

  Her light breath brushed against his jaw and when he glanced at Clara’s face, he found her eyes had closed, a small half smile playing across her very kissable lips. Instead of shocking her with his touch, he’d managed to make her happy. Beneath their joined hands, the frolicsome babe kicked again and then grew still.

  After some minutes, Reggie wondered if the child would move again.

  “Ah, my little scamp is resting. He has kicked a treat this morning.”

  “He does this every day?”

  Clara nodded, a dreamy sigh escaping again. “And often at the most inopportune times.”

  As he moved his hand on her spine in small circles, Clara leaned closer. He shifted his weight, pressing close against her belly and kept up the steady pressure. When his hand slipped lower, Clara arched her back and a moan escaped her lips.

  Beneath the bulk of her belly, hidden from her view by the child she carried, evidence of his attraction to Clara grew beyond his power to control. He wanted her with such a fierce ache that he couldn’t breathe.

  Reggie dropped his head to her shoulder and, after a moment, he turned his lips against her skin. Clara, perhaps forgetting who held her, arched her neck so he might have unfettered access. Reggie took his time, pressing light kisses up the column of her throat, nuzzling her ear and then gently tugging the lobe with his teeth.

  Clara clutched at his lapels, a contented hum purring from her lips. Reggie drew her body as hard against him as he could manage and pressed his lips to hers. Clara’s eyes widened. But then she kissed him back, she let him have his way with her lips, destroying all his imaginings of their first kiss.

  She tasted like sweet sunshine and the darkest claret. A combination that went to his head in moments and reduced his resolve to scattered ash. He claimed her mouth again and swept his tongue between her parted lips.

  Clara made an impatient noise and bumped awkwardly against him. He hadn’t considered the unborn child between them in any of his fantasies so he was unsure of how to draw her any closer. He swept one hand over her back and cupped her skull with the other.

  Clara drew back, eyes wide. “What are you doing?”

  Clutching her tight against him, he walked them to his bed, laid her down upon the counterpane and crawled over her prone body. “I must be sorely out of practice if you must ask me. I’m making love to you.”

  Careful to keep his weight from crushing the babe she carried, he hovered over, letting his kisses reduce them both to mindless moaning creatures. All he wanted was to cherish her and put an end to this unfulfilled craving.

  Clara pushed at his shoulders. “Reggie, please? Be serious.”

  He drew back, catching her bewildered stare and feeling, only momentarily, like the worst sort of cad. “I am completely in earnest, my love. We have both mourned long enough. We both have needs and I am eager to satisfy every one of yours.”

  Clara gaped at him. “You truly mean to make love to me? But why?”

  He laughed a little at her confusion. “Do you see any other stunningly beautiful women lying about my country estate? Of course I want to make love to you. I’ve thought of little else since you moved in.”

  He let her digest that for a bare moment before he captured her lips again.

  Chapter Two

  Clara’s head spun as her best friend pressed her deeper into the mattress and kissed her witless. Any moment she’d awaken from this pleasant daydream—hot, flushed and overly excited—and have to pretend that she was perfectly happy with her sexless existence as a widow and expectant mother.

  Yet Reggie moaned softly as he swept his tongue deep into her mouth. She hadn’t ever imagined that before. She opened her eyes to find his dark head bent over hers, his lips pressing ardent kisses to her skin, his hot breath dancing upon her nerves.

  Clara clutched his head, frustrated that her big, ungainly body refused to mould to Reggie’s as she wanted. For now, she’d be content with whatever small pleasures might come her way. Reggie rolled onto his side and pulled her toward him, and his fingers curved around the heavy weight of her breast. She moaned.

  “So beautiful,” he whispered.

  When Reggie pressed his lips to the upper swells of her breast, Clara’s body hummed with pleasure. She couldn’t get close enough to his beguiling heat.

  But suddenly, Reggie jumped off the bed. She met his gaze. The naked desire blazing bright in his eyes sent her pulse thudding at the junction of her thighs. He stripped his dark coat from his shoulders, and loosened his cravat in a rush. His gaze roved over her and, suddenly uncertain, she pressed her thighs tighter together. Could he truly want to make love to a woman as ungainly as she?

  “Don’t move, love. I’ll return in a moment.”

  Clara’s heart raced with excitement. She wouldn’t have to pretend not to want more from her friend than she should. Reggie crossed to the bedroom door, locked it and the door to an adjoining chamber, and then sauntered back across the room. He stopped at the bed side and stared down at her.

  Clara let her gaze roam his body. His square jaw, usually so serious and perfect, was shadowed with a dusting of dark stubble. The broad chest drew her eyes and she longed to touch the hot skin hidden beneath his waistcoat. Her admiration ended when her belly got in the way.

  Reggie’s lips lifted until a broad smile brightened his eyes. “Perfect.”

  “Really, Reggie. You exaggerate.”

  His grin grew wider. “I hardly ever exaggerate about beguiling women.” He dropped a boot to the floor, and then tossed the other clear across the room.

  When he crawled over her again, Clara was ready for more than just kisses. Her body hummed so badly she thought she’d expire before he could claim her. She reached for Reggie and drew his head to her breast. With a chuckle, he nipped and licked at the skin above her bodice, then wriggled his fingers beneath her gown at her shoulder and tugged. But the dress was made for prim propriety, not a rogues ease of access.

  She chuckled and rolled to her side. “You might need to unlace me.”

  Reggie groaned and pressed against her back. He nipped at her nape and sent shivers down her spine. She blushed as he snuggled close and the hard ridge of his erection pressed against her bottom. She had missed physical pleasure so badly she shook with the need to feel a man’s possession again. To feel the warmth of a beautiful man bare against her skin.

  “Dear God, you are lovely,” Reggie groaned.

  The low growl sent a flush of warmth rushing between he
r legs. Clara thrust her bottom against his erection, eager to encourage him anyway she could.

  Reggie made quick work of undoing her gown and as her breasts tumbled free, he caught one and molded her flesh with his strong hand. Clara moaned as months of wishing for intimate touch came true. He thumbed her nipple, then twisted and plucked at the hard peak. Clara squirmed against his groin. Her body throbbed with need, but what Reggie was doing wasn’t enough.

  As if sensing her impatience, he pushed her flat to the bed and set his lips to her nipple. He drew the peak deep into his mouth. Clara moaned as a rush of damp heat pulsed between her legs. She shifted them restlessly until Reggie trapped one of her legs and nudged his thigh against her groin.

  Dear God, she wanted so much more. She thrust her hips against his limb and her quim tightened unbearably. She’d never experienced such a rush of need before. It was almost as if her body was a stranger to her.

  Reggie kept up a steady assault on her senses, so much so that she didn’t notice he’d inched her gown up her legs until her knees were bared. His palm covered her skin and slid over her thigh. Clara gasped at the sensation and Reggie, after giving her a wicked grin, shifted down the bed.

  He touched her stockings and drew her knees apart. Deprived of pressure where she needed it most, Clara pressed her arm across her eyes to regain her faithless control. She had never ever imagined that Reggie had this kind of interest in her. Oh, she’d allowed his protection and allowed him to bully her out of London. But this? She gasped as he touched her curls and drew her knees wider apart.

  Clara raised her head, but her distended belly made seeing more of him than his broad shoulders impossible. Probably just as well. She wouldn’t like him to see the blush that heated her cheeks.

  He kissed her thighs, moving slowly until Clara growled with impatience. Reggie chuckled and lightly nipped her inner thigh. She wriggled and attempted to catch hold of his head, yet she couldn’t gain a satisfying grip on his dark hair. She gave up and slipped her hands beneath her hips, angling her lower body towards him.